


Twenty-Four Years Earlier...

by listerinezero



Series: Fighting the Good Fight [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Beach Divorce, Canon Disabled Character, Fix-It, Hospitals, M/M, stubborn bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very (very) brief origin story to this verse. Or: since when does Erik Lehnsherr take no for an answer? I mean, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Four Years Earlier...

_Cuba, 1962_

*

“Us turning on each other: it’s what they want. I tried to warn you, Charles. I want you by my side. We want the same things.”

“No, my friend. I'm sorry, but we do not.”

Erik watched the tears well in Charles' eyes, and his face fell.

But only for an instant. Erik gritted his teeth and growled, “Yes, we _do,_ ” and when he tore the helmet off his head he finally felt the screams Charles was muffling, and the biting, yowling pain he was in. “Oh, god. Charles.” He called out to Azazel, “We have to get him out of here! NOW!” and moments later they were on the sidewalk in front of New York Presbyterian.

*

Erik paced the waiting room in his yellow jumpsuit for nearly thirteen hours while Charles was in surgery. He gripped the helmet, clung to it, but resisted putting it on in case Charles tried to call out to him. Around hour five a nurse put her hand on his shoulder and told him to sit. “I'm not going to sit!” he roared and the whole waiting area vibrated. She must have known, he thought later, because rude as he was, she only nodded her understanding and let him be.

Erik finally heard Charles' diagnosis a little after midnight.

*

They warned him that Charles would be out for a while, probably. He was under heavy anesthesia, they told him, and it would take some time for him to come out of it.

Erik told them he would wait.

*

“He's awake. He's asking for you,” someone gently shook him out of his snooze. It was the same nurse from the day before, the one who'd told him to sit.

Erik had fallen asleep in a waiting room chair, his feet up on a table, helmet clutched to his chest like a security blanket. He sat up slowly and stood on uneasy legs.

“Are you ready for this?” the nurse asked him. He had no answer.

*

She led him to Charles’ room, where they found him propped up in bed, his eyes foggy from sleep, red from crying.

“Leave us,” Erik told the nurse, and when she didn’t move he screamed it and used his powers to slam the door behind her. He thought Charles might lecture him for behaving that way, but no lecture came.

He took two steps towards Charles’ bed and stopped.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Charles said. “You can come closer.”

Erik took a third step. “I thought you might be afraid of me.” A fourth step, and with that a sob. “Charles, I’m so sorry,” he choked, and knelt at his bedside. “I’m sorry, Charles. I’m so sorry.” He rested his head on Charles’ chest, and Charles stroked his unwashed hair.

“I know you’re sorry,” Charles said, and Erik looked up, nervous at what he might say next.

“That’s not quite the same thing as forgiving me.”

“No, it’s not.” Charles kissed his forehead. “But I’m glad you’re here.” He took Erik’s left hand in his, and noticed then what he had in his right. “Don’t tell me you kept the helmet.”

“I kept the helmet.” He put it down, though: tucked it under the bed, out of sight.

Charles sighed. “I meant what I said, Erik.”

“So did I.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I know you do.”

“I won’t be party to violence, to hatred.”

“I know you won’t.”

Charles brushed away a tear. “But you’re still here.”

“I’m still here.” He rose up from his knees and sat at the edge of the bed, next to Charles’ hip. He ran his hand over Charles’ chest, his shoulders, his face: anything to stop himself from looking down at his legs.

“You can look. They’re still there,” Charles smiled through sad eyes. “I checked.”

Erik still wouldn’t look.

He cleared his throat. “Charles, you and I…” Really, he wasn’t cut out for this, Erik thought, and shook his head. But Charles was looking up at him, waiting for him to say something, waiting for Erik to break his heart. Even then, Erik couldn’t leave Charles waiting. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again, and I’ll say it as many times as I have to. I want you by my side. I won’t do this without you. I…” He swallowed and tried to collect himself, to no avail. “I love you. I know we don’t see eye to eye on everything, but I don’t want to leave you, and I won’t fight against you when we should be fighting together.” He brushed away the tears that were pooling on Charles’ cheeks and waited for him to say something. Anything.

“Does this mean you're willing to compromise?” Charles finally asked.

“I'm saying we can agree to disagree.”

“That's not quite the same thing,” he laughed through a sob.

“No, it's not,” Erik smiled. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”


End file.
